


drowning in you

by parkjinchu



Series: body [2]
Category: ASTRO (Band)
Genre: Confessions, Drinking, Fluff, M/M, Underage Drinking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-24
Updated: 2018-01-24
Packaged: 2019-03-08 22:45:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,603
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13468149
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/parkjinchu/pseuds/parkjinchu
Summary: Minhyuk purses his lips. Sanha is watching him closely, eyes wide and sparkling, as they often do. When they dance, when he sings. When he’s so dedicated to a video game he’s almost jittering in his desk chair. A look of passion, of enjoyment. For a moment, Minhyuk lets him think the gaze is because of him, but he knows, in all of Sanha’s immaturity, he was solely intent on messing around. Minhyuk was his free ticket to a bit of booze.this is a work of fiction, and in no way represents the real lives of astro's members. in case of astro/fantagio/reasonable fan request, this fic will be taken downread full disclaimer on my profile





	drowning in you

**Author's Note:**

> SORRY LOL!!!  
> okay look i know i basically fell off the fic writing planet and didnt write or update or post??? i know i know i lost ALL motivation and inspiration idk where it went but it left me and didnt decide to come back until my first day of senior year :)))))))) ahhh fun stuff  
> anyway  
> this is just a short fic as a little apology, and, hopefully, my return to the fic writing world after a weird, unannounced hiatus

A breeze whistles over the balcony, crisp and hollow. The murky light of the city’s night washes over them, oranges and purples and traffic-reds. It is moments like these, as the moon ducks in between clouds, lights the line of the other boy’s throat, that Minhyuk can reflect. Reflect on his life, his luck, and his love.

He has a beer in his hand, something he’d previously only tasted briefly, sneaking sips from his older member’s cups. There was a time when Bin had let him try his flavoured soju, snuck the lip of the bottle between his lips on the tiles of their bathroom floor and laughed at his grimace. Until now, he hadn’t liked the flavour, had no affection for the heated burn alcohol left behind as it slid behind his teeth and down his throat, had despised the hot feeling in his belly.

Now, he doesn’t mind so much.

He takes a small sip, feels the condensation drip between his fingers. He glances over to the boy beside him, who stares out over the city with empty hands and an equally empty expression. Sanha had been refused any alcohol, told to wait until he was of age – and had been too embarrassed to be the only one drinking soda. Minhyuk had let him have a sip, watched as his expression curled in distaste, before he hummed and reached for another swig.

The breeze feels cooler, now, sends a rush of goose-bumps over Minhyuk’s arms. From the corner of his eye, he watches Sanha pulls his arms tighter around himself, tuck his legs into his body. They watch the city in silence, individually contemplating, too far in their own minds to hold a conversation.

Minhyuk’s Life: a cycle, from practice room, to stage performance, to sleepless nights. Minhyuk’s Luck: the privilege he has, to simply be stuck within said cycle. And, Minhyuk’s Love: the boy beside him.

Long, sinewy – he holds himself with a rather awkward air, an adolescent cluelessness of one’s own self and one’s own body. He has lengthy, strong arms that have learnt elegance in the brief years Minhyuk has had the privilege to know Sanha, and long legs that carry him easily through their choreography and performances.

He stands about half-a-head taller than Minhyuk himself (Sanha’s lips the perfect height to peck his forehead – this is a secret, guilty revelation Minhyuk had had a long time ago).

“Can I have a sip?” Sanha asks, his voice snapping Minhyuk’s trail of thought. His hand is outstretched, his long fingers dangling in the air. Minhyuk’s gaze flickers down at the beer bottle in his hand, contemplates briefly. There’s a buzz under his skin already, the alcohol in his blood. He glances back inside their dorm, makes sure neither Jinwoo nor Dongmin are watching. He passes the bottle into Sanha’s palm, watches a curt smile curl on his pink lips as he takes the drink.

Minhyuk stares at him, watches the rim of the bottle slide between his lips, watches the dark liquid slide down the neck of the bottle, watches Sanha’s neck bob as he swallows. He coughs gently, fingers curling over his mouth, and when his hand pulls away, he grins widely.

“Good?” Minhyuk murmurs.

Sanha raises his brows, “It’s okay,” he replies, but doesn’t hand the bottle back. He takes another sip. The older boy is captivated by him – can’t help it. He tries to look away, tries to sweep all thoughts of him away, but he can’t help it.

Yoon Sanha was addicting.

Yoon Sanha was forbidden.

Sanha stands wordlessly, stretching like out like a cat, moving to rest against the balcony cage. Minhyuk peers up at him, observing him from behind.

His shoulders are wide, and broad, expansive plains to be explored. They pinch in the centre, where the defining muscles in his back meet, his t-shirt snagged between. Minhyuk was lucky enough to have been able to see the boy without a shirt, seen the divots and dimples of his spine. Seen the grid of his abs, carved and well-presented. Seen the roll of his hips, of the protruding bones that jut out from the waistband of his sweatpants, admirable and delectable.

Minhyuk swallows – shakes his head. He couldn’t think that way, wouldn’t let himself. He couldn’t help it, though, could not resist this guilty, shameful thought. Minhyuk would keep it to himself.

Sanha turns, resting his back against the cage, his feet twisting beneath him. He pulls out his phone, the light beaming over his face.

The older boy eyes the column of Sanha’s neck, the curve that connects to his spine, the roll of his Adam’s Apple. The balanced scales of his collarbones, sturdy and long and _gorgeous_. Many a time, Minhyuk had imagined his lips gliding along the length of them, tracing from one end to the other, over the bow in the centre.

Sanha chuckles at something, his head bouncing lightly. He tips it back, takes another illegal swig from Minhyuk’s drink. His hair flows with him, as boisterous and full of life as he himself.

Minhyuk imagines his fingers running through it. Imagines the way his hair would feel as it tapers off by the nape of his neck. How his hair smells – according to Bin – distinctly like a baby’s: fresh, clean. Imagines pressing kisses to the swirling part in his hair, imagines curling himself into Sanha’s neck and letting his nose rest behind his ear, where his hair is short, and his regrowth pokes out.

“Got any more?” Sanha asks, as he pulls the bottle away from his lips.

Minhyuk gawks at the empty bottle, watches the thin dregs swirl around the base and snatches it from his hands. “I thought you were just taste-testing,” he grumbles, rising to a stand. “There’s more, but you can’t drink any of it. It’s for me.”

“It’s not _for you_ ,” Sanha argues. “And, why not?”

“Because you’re not allowed!” Minhyuk rebuts, opening to the door onto the dorm. He turns back, and whispers, “And, if Jinwoo catches me, I’ll be in _deep shit_!”

Sanha groans, “It’s just one drink. It’ll be fine – please?”

Minhyuk purses his lips. Sanha is watching him closely, eyes wide and sparkling, as they often do. When they dance, when he sings. When he’s so dedicated to a video game he’s almost jittering in his desk chair. A look of passion, of enjoyment. For a moment, Minhyuk lets him think the gaze is because of him, but he knows, in all of Sanha’s immaturity, he was solely intent on messing around. Minhyuk was his free ticket to a bit of booze.

Even so, with this knowledge in mind, Minhyuk gives in.

“One drink,” he says, and Sanha grins, those pink lips framing his perfectly straight teeth. “One,” he repeats, “That’s it.”

He sneaks two cool beers outside, finds Sanha waiting for him on the chairs. The boy reaches for the bottle, takes it gratefully between his fingers. His fingers unclasp the lid, twisting it open. He brings the neck of the bottle to his lips once more, and with a seemingly practiced ease, tips his head back and takes a long sip.

The light from inside the dorm spills out onto the balcony, a silver lining that traces Sanha’s outline. It shines along the line of his near-perfect nose, that round button that curls upwards with his smile. Minhyuk watches the curl of his lips around the drink, day-dreams of his own lips being there instead, captured between Sanha’s own.

 _Forbidden thought_ , he remembers, he shouldn’t think of that.

Sanha sighs, pulling the drink away from his mouth and leaning back in his chair. He glances over at Minhyuk, catches him staring. There’s a pink tint to his face, beneath his eyes and over the apples of his cheeks. Minhyuk grins – it’s too early for him to flush from drinking. Sanha had caught him staring, and was, in reaction, flustered.

“Sorry,” he murmurs, a giggle twisting off from his apology.

Sanha grins in response, shaking his head lightly. He breathes in sharply through his nose, sighing again. “Your alcohol tolerance is low – I think you’re already tipsy,” the boy accuses.

 _Impossible_ , Minhyuk thinks, _this is liquid courage_.

The buzz under his skin is electric. “No, this is normal,” he replies, feels his heart beat faster in his chest, fluttering.

“You, staring at me?” Sanha asks, takes a sip. His words are accented with beer. “That’s not usually something you do…”

Minhyuk grins, slides back in his seat. “I guess you never noticed, then.”

His head is swimming. Sanha blinks stupidly at him, fingers tapping the base of the glass bottle, a popping, hollow tune. “Minhyuk,” he whispers, glancing out into the city. “Have you ever thought of us as more than friends?”

Minhyuk’s gaze flickers down to his lips, over the tiny shell curve of his ear. Over his shoulders, his collarbones, up the parabola of his chin. Stops on his lips again, staring at the bow of his mouth, two deliciously plump lips.

He nods. Sanha swallows. “So often,” he admits. His skin feels like it’s on fire. He chuckles at Sanha’s shocked face. “I like you, Sanha,” he whispers.

Sanha grins, hiding his smile behind his beer bottle. “How long would it have taken you to say that if you hadn’t had some drink?” He chuckles, pressing the cool drink to his cheeks.

The older boy laughs, shrugs. “Have you? Have you ever thought about us being more than friends?”

Sanha grins, lips curling up deviously on both ends. He echoes Minhyuk’s words, “So often…”

**Author's Note:**

> enjoyed?? didnt?? always looking for feedback! you can comment below or find me on my tumblr and twitter under @parkjinchu!! :D


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